20. Hudson
Chapter 20
Hudson
Blake: heading to the crown and swan – you coming?
Me: nah thanks
I watch the two ticks beside my text message turn blue and a second later my brother’s name flashes across the screen with an incoming phone call.
“What’s wrong?” he asks in greeting, concern lacing his tone.
“Nothing,” I say on instinct, cradling the phone between my ear and my shoulder while ripping open the fridge in my kitchen to see if anything takes my fancy. My appetite hasn’t been the best the past couple of days. Two weeks, in fact.
“It’s a Friday night, I’ve asked if you want to come to the pub, and you’ve said no. That means something is wrong, so tell me.”
Deny. Deny. Deny.
“There’s nothing wrong.”
My toes curls uncomfortably at the thought of making Blake worry about me. I hate it.
“Hudson.”
There’s that big brother tone of his.
“What?” I snap, pushing the fridge door closed. I can’t be bothered to cook. Maybe I’ll just have a sandwich or—
“Tell. Me. What’s wrong.”
“Just… drop it, Blake. It doesn’t matter.”
“Alright.” If this was Grey I was talking too, or even Noah, I wouldn’t be finding myself off the hook that easily. “But I’m only dropping it for tonight. Meet me tomorrow morning at the coffee shop around the corner from that gym of yours. If you’re not there by eleven, I’ll come and find you instead. Love you.”
As if threatening to come and find me like a creepy stalker is just an average occurrence, Blake hangs up on me.
Throwing my phone somewhere into the depths of my sofa cushions, I slump down, staring straight ahead at the football match playing out across my flatscreen TV without even really seeing what’s going on.
Tiredness runs heavy through my veins.
I haven’t worked out for my own sake in a week and a half.
I’m not sleeping or eating properly.
It doesn’t feel right to be alone in my apartment, on this sofa, in my bed, but I don’t want to be anywhere else either.
The thought of going to a club or a bar or even the local pub is enough to turn my stomach.
There’s something up with me. At first, I thought it was guilt after what I’d put Giselle through, the way I’d made her feel abandoned, the way I’d made her cry until she couldn’t even bear to look at me.
But now I’m starting to think it’s something more because I can’t seem to get my head back in the game. I can hardly think at work; I’m making mistakes and struggling to pay attention to anything except the door leading away from the main area of the gym.
The one I know Giselle is somewhere behind.
This whole giving her space thing is driving me fucking crazy. I want to see her, to talk to her, to figure out if this electrical connection we have between the two of us is salvageable.
Patience isn’t a strong point of mine – it never has been.
I just wish I knew what was going through her head.
I know she misses me too; I heard her confession today after she’d thanked me for the bunch of tulips I’d lain beside her mediation studio door. I’m not giving up hope that we can sort this out, but the distance between us is killing me.
Which is laughable really, seeing as I’m the one who put us in this position in the first place.
But I’m ready to fix my mistake now because I know Giselle is worth it.
It’s worth it, to face my fear head on, if it means I get to have her at the end.
I can’t explain how I know, I just do, the same way I’ve heard my other brother’s and my dad when they talk about how they knew they we’re falling in…
Shit.
Is this what this feeling is? These butterflies in my stomach, the knot of guilt I can’t seem to get rid of at the knowledge I fucked up and hurt her feelings, the constant ache I feel to be around her, to hold her in my arms and protect her?
Planting my feet on the floor, I push myself off the sofa in search of a beer. I need something, anything, to steady my nerves.
Grabbing an ice-cold beer from the back of my fridge, I knock the lid off using the edge of my kitchen counter and gulp back half of it in one go.
Swiping away the residual foam with the back of my hand, I set down the bottle, brace both of my hands on the hard granite stone and hang my head, squeezing my eyes shut tight.
I wait for my heart to begin racing, but it never does.
It’s as if it’s known all along, simply waiting for my brain to catch up.
Fucking hell…
Opening my eyes, I wrap my fingers around the thin bottle of cheap beer, bringing the neck up to my lips again.
I take a small sip this time, savouring the taste of hops coating my tastebuds and then, in the privacy of my own space, I grin. Widely. Unabashedly.
“ Y ou look like shit.”
I scoff at my older brother, Blake, sliding into the seat opposite his at exactly one minute to eleven on Saturday morning. “Thanks. Nice to see you too.”
“Have you not been sleeping?” He continues on his tirade of worrying about me, pretending as if I never spoke, “I’ve never seen the bags under your eyes looks so purple before. Do I need to call Mum?”
I shake my head, scrubbing at my forehead with my fingertips and then I shrug. “I don’t know. Whatever you want.”
“Hudson, what the fuck is wrong?” Blake knocks my hand away from my face, leaning across the wooden table, so he can see every inch of me. “Is it your job?”
“No.”
“Are you in trouble?”
“Thanks for thinking so highly of me.” I roll my eyes. “No, I’m not in fucking trouble.”
“Then, what?”
“I-I…” The words stick in my throat, but I know I need to get them out. I need to tell somebody, and my family are the only people I trust completely in the whole entire world. “I’m in love.”
“Love?” Blake chokes on his sip of black coffee. “What the fuck do you mean you’re in love? You don’t date, let alone get close enough to somebody to fall in love.”
So, I tell him.
It’s fitting, I almost laugh to myself, as I look around the café, finding red and pink streamers hanging from the ceiling, heart shaped bunting draped from the windows, seeing as it’s Valentine’s Day.
I lay myself bare in front of Blake because what else am I supposed to do? I’ve never fucking been in love before to know what to do, or how to handle the situation, or how to make right my wrongs.
Plus, I’m terrified. There’s no denying that.
When I’m finished, Blake sits back in his chair, his half-drunk cup of caffeine sitting stone cold in front of him.
“I think we should have ordered something stronger,” he says. “A pint. Two. A shot of vodka.”
“You’re telling me,” I mutter, pressing the tip of my tongue into the sharp point of my incisor.
“So… what’s your plan?”
I pop my shoulders, peering over his broad shoulder to watch the steady stream of customers walking through the café door.
“Come on, you’re telling me Hudson Millen doesn’t have a plan of action to win back the girl he’s in love with?”
I’m about to tell him I do, but right now the ball is firmly in Giselle’s court, when I see a familiar shock of glossy black hair, dark against her cropped cream coat – looking like an angel that’s been summoned simply by talking about her – walk into the coffee shop. She’s on her phone, chatting to somebody on the other end of the line while she peers at the fridge full of cold sandwiches and takeaway salad boxes, her back to the table Blake and I are sitting at, but there’s no mistaking it’s her. I would know the sight of Giselle anywhere.
“What are you…” Blake follows my line of sight, turning his head to look over his shoulder. “Is that her?”
I nod, unable to speak.
“Are you—Never mind.” I catch the tail end of whatever my brother is saying, before pushing my chair back and standing.
This is my chance to talk to Giselle, away from work and prying ears, and I’m not about to waste it.
“That’ll be four-pound, twenty,” I hear the barista behind the counter reel off the Giselle’s total while scrawling something on a takeaway cup.
“I’ll get it.” Before Giselle can hand over a creased, plastic five-pound note, I’m tapping my phone to the machine, watching as it lights up green to signal the payment has been accepted.
“You didn’t have to do that, Hudson,” she says, back straight as a rod, grabbing her salad box from beside the glass cabinet full of deliciously looking buttery pastries and moving down towards the end of the counter to retrieve her hot drink.
“I wanted to, Gee.”
I see her soften at the sound of her name on my lips, turning to face me fully, green clashing with sky blue.
“Well, thank you… again.”
“You’re very welcome.”
There’s a heartbeat of silence between us – the noise of China teacups kissing porcelain saucers and mindless chitter chatter filtering through my ears – until Giselle breaks.
“I didn’t see you at the gym this morning.”
I shake my head. “It’s my day off.”
“Oh, right.” She dips her chin. “I got a bit worried this morning when I didn’t see you, but I didn’t know whether to call and check in on you or if that was overstepping the line—”
“You can always call me, Gee. Always.”
My eyes fall to her sweet but sharp mouth as she presses her glossy lips together. “That’s… good to know.”
“Caramel latte with oat milk for Giselle!” shouts the barista, pushing the takeaway cup so hard across the marble counter that a little bit of the scalding liquid sloshes over the top of the lid.
Giselle makes a grab for it, wiping up the droplet running down the side with her finger and then licking it away.
My cock twitches in interest before I can give myself a mental slap.
I watch as she peers up at me and then glances over my shoulder before fixing her gaze back of mine.
“Are you free tonight?”
I nod, my heart soaring.
“Do you want to come to mine, say half six, and we can… talk.”
“I’ll be there,” I promise. “Half six on the dot.”
Giselle sends me a wide smile, pearly teeth on show. It’s my favourite smile on her – real, raw, and unfiltered.
“I’ve missed seeing your smile, Gee.”
My honest admission makes her entire face light up and my stomach flips knowing I’m the one who put that smile there. It’s an addictive feeling.
“I’ve got to get going, I’ve got a class in twenty minutes, but I’ll see you tonight, okay?”
“Okay.”
Giselle squeezes the top of my upper arm before she takes a step back, raising her hand in a silent farewell to somebody behind me. I follow her line of sight, my eyes landing on the raised right hand of my older brother.
The shit eating grin plastered across his lips says it all.
Dropping her fingers from my skin, leaving a trail of goosebumps, Giselle ducks out of the coffee shop door with one last smile in my direction.
I watch her go, padding past the glass window, until she’s out of sight.
“Is she going to give you another chance?” Blake slaps me on the back, shoving my coat and scarf beneath my nose, while I nod.
“Good. Don’t fucking fumble it this time.”
“I won’t. I can promise you that, brother.”